Yesterday, my wife of nearly seventeen years turned fifty years old (Happy Birthday! Love you! Mwah!). I still have nearly three years before I’ll be able to say the same. Yet through her, I can experience fifty at forty-seven. I have known of my wife since a month after her twenty-third birthday, met her for the first time in April ’90, became friends with her in May ’95, and began dating in December ’95. Sure, I have friends and family I’ve known longer. With my Mom being only twenty-two years older than me, I have memories of her from her late-20s onward. But I didn’t marry my Mom, thankfully.

Angelia at road stop in South Carolina during vacation, August 30, 2007. (Donald Earl Collins).

I don’t have much to say here. I just want to share a few pictures of my better half from the 7s – 1997 (the year of her at 30), 2007 (when she was 40), and ~2017 (she wouldn’t let me take a photo of her yesterday for number 50). The problem with still looking young is that people seldom take your aging seriously. Whether it’s people just a few years older telling you your knees can’t hurt from years of basketball, running, and other sports because you’re “still young.” Or it’s doctors telling you your ailments are minor because you don’t look like you’re anemic or going through menopause. For my wife, though, the biggest bugaboo about how she looks at fifty is that she still gets carded at liquor stores or when ordering a drink at a restaurant. Oh well!

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